Chapter 1090: Moonlight Waltz (2).
The air inside the crippled carrier was thick with smoke and dripping condensation, every step a drumbeat against steel that echoed the chaos outside. Susan leaned heavier on the rail as they descended, her breath shallow, her bandages soaked through. Roselle kept half a pace behind Cain, blades drawn, her eyes never leaving the corners. Trust had grown between them in silence, forged not by words but by the weight of bodies carried through battle.
The comm clicked with Steve’s voice again, quieter this time, urgency trimmed into something sharper. "Cain. I’m patching feeds from what’s left of their network. It’s bad. The Daelmonts knew you’d strike, maybe not here, maybe not now, but they accounted for loss. I’m seeing fallback orders."
"Fallback to where?" Cain asked.
"Not a retreat." Steve’s voice cracked. "A consolidation. They’re moving resources inland. Towards the city. This—" Static bled through, then steadied. "—this was just the first wall. You’ve forced their hand, and now they’re willing to burn faster."
Susan spat blood onto the floor and wiped her mouth. "So we bleed the wolves and they send the fire. Classic."
Roselle’s hand brushed the comm panel at her wrist. "Then we cut deeper. Before the fire takes root."
Cain stopped mid-step. The ship trembled beneath them as something somewhere collapsed, metal screaming against its own weight. He turned, his expression carved from stone. "If they consolidate, they’re drawing everything into one command structure. One head."
"And we cut it off," Roselle said simply.
Steve hesitated. "You don’t understand. The Daelmonts don’t operate out of the city like the rest. They own it. Every tower, every council seat that matters—they’ve already stacked the board. You cut their head, you’re cutting into the city’s spine."
Cain’s silence stretched. It wasn’t indecision. It was the kind of pause soldiers took before crossing a threshold they knew would not allow return.
Susan broke it. "You’ve crossed worse. And I’ve followed you into worse. Don’t start doubting now."
Cain’s jaw worked. His hand brushed the hilt of his blade, fingers curling against familiar weight. "Then we move to the city."
---
They reached the carrier’s launch bay, half-submerged, flames licking at its shattered ceiling. Drones floated lifeless in the water, like carcasses of birds. Among them bobbed the bodies of men who had believed themselves untouchable. Roselle strode through without looking down. Susan forced herself not to look at all.
A small patrol skiff had been left intact at the bay’s far end, forgotten in the panic. Cain climbed aboard first, steadying the craft against the surge of waves. Roselle helped Susan in, her grip rough but steady. Engines whined as Steve rerouted remote access, coaxing life into the battered vessel.
"You’ll have a tail the second you breach open water," Steve warned. "Not drones this time. Flesh. The Daelmonts won’t risk another system hack."
Cain’s response was flat. "Then they’ll die the old way."
The skiff roared forward, leaving the ruin of the carrier behind. The sea was littered with fragments of war, steel skeletons and drifting fire. Above them the clouds thinned, dawn light stretching long shadows over the broken horizon. It should have felt like victory. Instead it felt like intermission.
Susan lit another cigarette with trembling hands. She coughed but kept it lit. "City’s going to eat us alive. You know that, right?"
Cain didn’t look at her. "Let it try."
---
Hours later, the skyline rose from the water like the teeth of some impossible beast. Towers stabbed the sky, glass catching the first true light of morning. Skyscrapers layered upon platforms, bridges arched like ribs. It was not a city built for men; it was a city built to remind men of their smallness.
Susan exhaled smoke through clenched teeth. "Home sweet hell."
Roselle studied the skyline with quiet eyes. "Where do we cut first?"
Steve’s voice broke in, the hum of keys behind him. "I’ve traced Daelmont movement. They’ve abandoned their outer holdings, pulling security into the central spire. Everything feeds into that one tower. Command uplink, financial networks, military oversight. They’ve put all their eggs in one fortress."
"Arrogant," Susan muttered.
"Efficient," Cain corrected. "They think it makes them untouchable."
Roselle’s mouth curled into a thin line. "Then we make them choke on their efficiency."
The skiff slid into the shadow of the city’s lowest platforms. The smell of oil and rust rose thick, mingling with sewage and salt. Workers and refugees crowded narrow docks, eyes hollow, too accustomed to the war above to react to three strangers stepping ashore.
Cain took it in silently—the poverty, the forgotten. It was the underside of the city the Daelmonts pretended didn’t exist. He felt the weight of it press against him harder than the sea ever had.
Susan noticed his stare. "Don’t start. You’ll drown in guilt before we even draw a blade."
He ignored her. His eyes were already climbing the towers, tracing the path upward to the spire. "We move through the underlevels. Quiet. Fast. If they know we’re coming, they’ll lock it down."
Steve’s voice cut in. "Cain—careful. The spire isn’t just walls and guns. It’s politics. You’re not fighting soldiers alone. You’re fighting everyone who benefits from keeping that tower standing."
"Then we cut until no one benefits," Cain said. His tone left no room for reply.
---
They moved through alleys lined with steel and filth, past eyes that looked without daring to hope. Cain’s cloak dragged grime with each step, Susan’s smoke trailed behind them, Roselle’s blades gleamed faintly under fractured light. Together, they looked less like saviors and more like inevitabilities.
They climbed stairwells slick with condensation, crossed bridges that swayed under the weight of forgotten years. Higher and higher, until the city’s heart began to thrum through the steel beneath their feet. The spire loomed above, a monolith of mirrored glass and iron bones, every floor humming with secrets.
At its base, security swarmed. Black armor, corporate sigils, rifles gleaming under the cold light. Daelmont’s shield. Too many for a straight charge. Too disciplined for a bluff.
Cain drew his sword.
Susan muttered, "Here we go again."
Roselle leaned forward, eyes narrowing at the guards. "No. This time, we don’t storm the front."
Cain paused, blade low. "Then where?"
Roselle pointed upward. To the bridges, the maintenance shafts, the overlooked arteries of a city too proud to guard its veins. "We bleed them from the inside."
For once, Cain allowed himself a smile. Thin. Dangerous. "Then we climb."